


Let Us Be Bold

by Skegulium



Category: The Blackout Club (Video Game)
Genre: 14 year old kids not taking the whole 'my entire town is a cult' well, All archer wants is to go back home, Gen, Runaway children, paranormal happenings, threat of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skegulium/pseuds/Skegulium
Summary: 14 year old Archer Folley has discovered a terrible secret in his town. After committing himself to rebelling against CHORUS, he spends his time in the clubhouse with his friend Sophie and tries to plot out a way to do - well, anything.Unfortunately, there's only so much they can do and desperation has them looking for help in unlikely places.





	Let Us Be Bold

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me dragging my OC fic stuff to AO3. I've been like, super into RPing for this so of course I had to write a drabble about my character. Sophie isn't mine, by the by. They belong to a good friend of mine that doesn't actually have a AO3.
> 
> This is also mirrored on my tumblr [SpidersWithTits](http://spiderswithtits.tumblr.com/post/183273643884/let-us-be-bold)

Sometimes, the boxcar didn't seem too bad to live in.

 

It's daytime right now and surprisingly warm out, so Archer had to take advantage of it. The boxcar doors were pulled open as wide as they could to shake out the dust and musty air. Who knew a gaggle of teenagers could track in that much dust? The rest of the kids never stayed during the day though, so he was the one who spent most of the mornings cleaning up. There was a lot of trash - like, a lot. Soda cans, chip bags, forgotten bits of pencil shavings and mysterious strings from bandages littered the floor. It was like, pretty gross, especially since Archer was pretty sure one of them was all crusty from blood.

 

Now, all the trash was all collected in a pile outside and he was sweeping away at the wooden floors. Cleaning a box car was easier than any other chores he had and sweeping? Sweeping was nice. It was nice and repetitive and he could just stand there and enjoy the feeling of the sun on his face and the trees in the wind.

 

Sometimes, when the mornings were as calm as this, Archer could almost forget that this wasn't his real home.    
  
He… didn’t exactly like to remember his old house. It was painful to think about - too depressing! It's been what? Almost a month now since he's ran away? Yeah, if he sat down and thought about it, it was probably close to a month. It was scary back then when he lived with his real family. They were so sweet during the day, but during the night…    
  
It wasn’t his family anymore. Once he realized that, he spent all of his time lying awake at night. Fear kept him awake with the sound of - of the  _ Song _ playing in the background and the padding of his family's feet around the house. His dad - so upbeat during the day - walked around and whispered about death and voices and old men in hospices. His own mom was thankfully awake, but not human anymore, he guessed. The first night he cracked his eyes open to watch her check on him, her face moved and crawled across her head like leaves on water.

 

Archer couldn't take it, not after that. Not after he joined the club and delved deeper under the town than he’s ever gone before and he learned that at night, he didn’t have parents anymore. What he had were two vessels that   _ looked _ like his parents but would toss him off a cliff without hesitation. Oh, Archer lost so much sleep when he realized that and his parents acted like they couldn't remember  _ anything;  _ his nerves were cut shorter and shorter until -

 

"Hey, nerd, are you okay?"

 

Archer jolted out of his thoughts and looked up, the broom in his hands clutched against his chest.

 

it was just Sophie, thank god. They stood there outside the boxcar, jacket thrown over one shoulder and their long hair pulled dripping wet over a shoulder. Their hair was redder than before they left for their makeshift shower and he's sure if he went out to the back, he'd smell the acidic tang of hair dye in the water buckets. They stared at him a bit suspiciously, but he just nodded and dropped his head. "I'm fine," Archer said, giving the floor one last good brooming towards the door. "Just... thinking."

 

Sophie huffed at his words and they pulled themselves up into the boxcar. "You're always thinking. What's it about this time? The coyote spies? Or like, do you have something new about the  _ government  _ and satellites? Like CHORUS has people in NASA?"

 

"Hey, it was a good theory oka - wait. Do you think Chorus actually has people in NASA?" That actually gets a laugh out of Sophie as Archer's eyes bugged out of his head and they flopped down onto the beanbag across from him.

 

"No, of course not! I mean, the song can't reach out that far, right? They have to stay like, here! In the RQZ."

 

Right. Right right. Sophie's right and Archer hung his head as he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He does a few more good sweeps to get the last of the dust outside and he watches as it billows out into the air. With the cleaning done, he set the broom up against the wall and stepped over to the bench next to Sophie and sat down. "No, it's not theories," he says as he rubs at the back of his neck. "Just..."

 

Sophie doesn't say anything. Not yet, anyway, but he can feel them watching him as he tried to find the words. It’s hard to say it! They’re not like him after all. They were a lot tougher than he was - braver too - and they weren’t afraid of losing family. Hell, how many times have the two of them sat down in their sleeping bags next to each other and argued over whether or not to just leave Redacre? Sophes wanted to go, but Archer wanted to stay. Where could they even go? Their family was  _ here. _

 

They wouldn’t understand, but the emotions were swelling up inside of him. It was like a cold rock in his stomach and not even the sun on his face could warm it up. Archer rubbed at his face and he sighed before he just let it spill out. "Just.. my family. I miss them, Soph. I keep thinking about my room, and my mom, and my dad, and how much I miss  _ microwaves,  _ and it sucks. It's nice here and I'm glad we're somewhere safe and I have you as my buddy but it's not the same, you know? I just..." He tapers off and then the boxcar goes quiet again. There’s nothing for a second, and Archer’s half afraid he needed to say something else. He opened his mouth, his throat worked, yet no sound came out.   
  
But, he didn’t need to say anything else. Sophie’s hand was already on his arm by the time his mouth fell closed again. Archer turned to look at them as they leaned on him, their arm wrapping around his. "I know," they say, quiet. "I'm sorry. I don't know - I can't help, and I know we can't go back. I'm sorry Archer."

 

The touch is comforting. It’s not the usual sort of comfort Sophie gives, but it didn’t matter. Right here, right now, it’s what he needed, and he couldn’t help but melt up against them. It's nice for him to feel them actually comforting him like this. It made him feel a little less… alone. 

 

They're both quiet for a long moment. It's nice, just the two of them sitting there in the back of the boxcar with the sun shining in.

 

For a moment, Archer could sit and pretend that everything was normal. No Chorus, no voices, no dead children found in mazes, no families that tossed the bodies off cliffs after eating dinner together that night. Just... normal.

 

All he needed was normal.

 

* * *

  
**\---LATER THAT NIGHT---**  
  
  


"I talked to one!"

 

"What?"

 

"I talked to one of the voices, Archer!"

 

Sophie was a mess. Whatever cleaning he did during the day was completely ruined now as they clambered into the boxcar with dripping wet clothes and dirty boots smearing mud across the floor. They tossed their crossbow onto the equipment table and immediately slammed a boot against it to start untying their shoes.

 

Archer, on the other hand, was still sitting there on the floor in shock. His laptop sat next to him, glowing with the soft white of the downloaded wikipedia articles and pages and pages of his notes scattered around him with diagrams of music, maps of the town, and scribblings. "Hold on," He spluttered, staring at them.. "Hold  _ on _ . Did you just say you talked to one of the voices? The ones that's trying to - to control us? Kill us?!"

 

"This one doesn't want to hurt us! He wants to help!" A dirty boot dropped on the floor and Sophie hopped to untie the other.

 

Archer scrambled up from where he sat, papers forgotten as he hurried over and grabbed at the edge of the table to look them directly in the face. "Are you possessed?" He whispered, horrified. Then he rethought and the blood drained out of his face. _ "Did you lead them here?  _ You were out alone, you didn't have a buddy -  _ oh god, I'm your buddy and I let you go out alone."  _ Panic licked down his spine like ice water down a drain and he reached forward to grab at their jacket and pulled them close. The last thing they expected was for him to do that, and they froze as he inspected their eyes. "Did they see where the club is?! Sophie! Did they?!"

 

"Calm down!" They squawked and batted his hands off of their jacket. Bright red hair was falling out of the bun they kept it in and as he stepped back, it was only then he realized how dirty and beat up they looked. Sophie looked like they were dragged halfway across town and dunked into a lake and then dusted dry with dirt - if this was a ploy and they were a spy now, they wouldn't look like they just got done doing a military obstacle course, right? The voices weren't that smart, right? Or what if they  _ were - _

 

A hand came up to his face and he started as he realized how much closer Sophie came. Their hand was gentle at first - then they pulled it back to give him a smart smack across the cheek. "Calm down! I'm fine! I'm not possessed, if you'd give me a  _ second  _ to actually talk before you  _ manhandled  _ me, I could tell you everything that happened!"

 

Right. Yeah. Debriefing, that was... probably important. His cheek stung, but it was what he needed to knock the panic right out of his head. They needed to debrief  _ without  _ any of the panic, and Archer nodded at Sophie before pulling away. "Right," He echoed, sitting heavily on the boxcar bench. The door was still cracked open and the noise of crickets and the light of the moon lit up the forest almost like it was day and he closed his eyes to listen to the night. It was quiet, blissful silence while he tried to calm himself and Sophie sighed as they continued to take their shoes off.

 

"Are you feeling better now?" They asked as they thunked something heavy next to him. Cracking his eyes open, Archer could see that they were putting the dirt covered shoes away and dragging out a new pair from the closet. They dug through the boxes too, searching for a new pair of pants in their size. His hands and his lips still shook from his panic, but he thought he was calm enough to listen so he nodded.

 

Sophie eyed him up, not quite believing him as well as he wanted but that's fine. They'll still tell them and that's all that he cared about.

 

"Well," They started as they dug out another shirt and jacket. "While I was out there, I found something - something new! Or, well, I found it like, weeks ago.” Clothes in hand, they started stomping their way to the sleeping bag car, voice rising so he could hear as they shut the door. It was simple privacy while they changed. “Remember when I told you about those like, impressions of people pressed up against the walls? The ones you couldn't see when I dragged you out on the missions? I kept telling you to look for the blue mist but you could never see it." 

 

He remembered that. He remembered how he stood there at the edge of the bed and flailed about trying to find this person they told him about. He saw nothing but the backs of his eyelids and after a few minutes - the tell tale sign of the shape walking into the house. Definitely not the figure Sophie was talking about, but he yelled back a loud “Uh-huh!”

 

"Okay, well, I found out what they were!" There's the sound of jacket zipping up now and the door slid back open. Sophie was in new clothes now - a neat little hoodie zipped up to the neck and track pants. They're cleaner than the other clothes they had on and they crouched as they started digging up some new shoes out of the closet. Sophie didn’t waste any time to start pulling them on and suddenly it dawned on him what they were doing. Were... were they planning on going back out there?! Archer can't help but gape at them as they laced up their shoes.

 

"They're  _ name fragments!" _

 

...What?

 

His mouth took a minute to catch up with his thoughts, but once it did and he vocalized it, Sophie beamed. "Name fragments!" She repeated! "There's like - there's all those voices we've been hearing, right? In our dreams and that the sleepers and lucids talk about? There's one they  _ haven't  _ been talking about! There's a secret voice, because  _ he's supposed to be dead!  _ Or, like, imprisoned. I don't know! Either way, the other voices don't like him!" They gave the laces one last tug to tighten them up and they scrambled across the floor to him, bouncing eagerly on their feet.

 

"Archer," they gushed. "Archer, I think he can help us get out of here."

 

Out... of there? Out of Redacre?

 

Sophie's talked about it a lot. Archer can't even say they haven’t, but that seemed as much of a pipe dream as his dreams were about following the trails of coyotes to where they were  _ clearly  _ gathering as spies for CHORUS. But this? There was a spark in their eyes, a fire that burned in their pupils and a determination in their shoulders that actually made him hesitate.

 

"S-Sophie," He stammered out. "I don't know. It's a voice, can we even - are we even able to trust it?"

 

There's a pause, and their eyebrows creased together as they studied him. "Yes," They said softly. "I think we can."

 

Archer didn’t buy it, but he didn’t say it. He's sure Sophie could read the hesitation on his face, but they didn’t say a word before they stood up and tugged him up with them. 

 

"Hey, just come with me, okay? For one mission, before the sun comes up. I think he'll still be around to talk if you want to speak to him yourself." He stood as they talked and Sophie pulled him on over to the shoes. "Grab something you can run with and just - just try it with me okay? You like proof, let's go get you some proof."

 

Archer nudged one of the shoes out of the closet and he paused as he slipped his toes in. "And you promise this isn't a possession thing, right?" He asked. His voice is so much quieter than he'd ever like to admit but he's nervous! How could he not be!

 

Sophie just beamed again and nodded. "Trust me. I'm your buddy, we have each other's backs. Now let's go and kick some CHORUS ass."

 

* * *

 

The mission was a bust. Like, an  _ absolute  _ bust.

 

By the time they limped back on over to the boxcar, they were exhausted and scraped up and Archer was sure there was a splinter shoved an inch deep into his hand. God damn  _ lucids _ , he thought as he pushed the door to the boxcar open. The two of you had spent your time wandering the neighbourhood and collecting evidence before the club reached out to the two of you, pleading for help to rescue a kid that was kidnapped. It went pretty well - until they got to the maze where it looks like Archer stepped right into the middle of a lucid meeting. They cornered him up in the rafters in the observation room and he cowered in the corner for five whole minutes as he waited for Sophie to save him. 

 

Honestly? Thank god for his Blackout Buddy. If it wasn't for them, he's sure he'd be wandering the maze with the song vibrating in his head and the shape at his back and whispers in his head of where to go, who to talk to and what to do. They already did it once with the girl they went down there to save and he nearly got dragged away trying to save her from the song.

 

"That was too tough," Sophie groaned as they turned and hopped up onto the boxcar. Their legs dangled as they flopped backwards and stretched their arms out above their head. "I almost thought we were done for!"

 

"Yeah," Archer murmured as he clambered up next to them. "Me too. That was uh, pretty bad. Do you think the kid we saved is gonna make it back to us? I know they said to go ahead and they'll catch up but there were so many lucids and the shape was there and all..."

 

Sophie's quiet for a minute. Then, they cursed and pulled themselves back up. "Dumb kid, I know Rosalyn. She's probably the kind of person who'd get caught again so we should  _ probably  _ go get her." They slid off the boxcar and straightened up to eye up Archer.

 

He... didn't look so good. If he was honest, he was sort of hoping that they wouldn't ask him to come with because he's had enough of all this sneaking and this fighting tonight. Brawling wasn’t what he was built for - not like how Sophie was.

 

Luckily for him, it looks like they could see it. "... You should stay,” They said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear.  “You look beat up and you know what? I know the maze better. I'll go look for her and you clean up and get the club ready if we need to patch up, okay?" Archer breathed a sigh of relief and he couldn't help but nod enthusiastically. 

 

"Course! I'll keep things nailed down here. You go get her and come right back, okay?" He lifted up his fist to Sophie and they grinned and bumped knuckles.

 

"See you in a bit, nerdface!" 

 

And with that, Sophie whirled around and darted off and Archer was alone in the boxcar. Again.

 

He took a moment to just sit there, legs swinging. Crickets chirped around him and if he listened, oh so faintly there was the soft hoots of owls. No coyote howls, but that he's been trying to catch for awhile. It was just... silence. Blissful silence and if Archer closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was safe and sound in his bed at home with his family.

 

His... family. The ones he's already ditched to live in a grimy little box car out in the woods, pouring over his notes and the reports kids brought back to him and only spotting on occasion when he wandered the neighbourhood. He's seen his dad a few times wandering around in his pajamas and it just made the ache in his heart hurt more. Today was just a day to think on them, wasn’t it? Maybe all the camping out was getting to him.

 

Archer wasn't Sophie. He wasn't some badass who could ditch their family at the drop of his hat. He loved his mother! He loved his father! You're not supposed to just - just ditch them!

 

But how was he going to save his family? Everything he's had so far has been useless to try to break the song. He's tried playing music (that was an awful evening bolting from sleepers), he's tried breaking into the shape doors (Sophie nearly smacked his head off when she found him dazed on the ground, blood coming from his nose from trying to pry one open), he's tried - well, he's tried everything!

 

There was something Archer was missing. There was information that he couldn't just - just steal or figure out. 

 

He needed answers.

 

A lot of the other Blackout Club kids told him about their weird dreams. Voices, they said, in their heads that answered questions they had. If they focused, they could try to aim it towards one of them and sometimes - the voices talked back. The most successful responses were always done in front of a source of flame though, like a candle or... a lighter.

 

Archer sighed as he cracked his eyes back open and he pushed his way up. There was a weight in his pocket, one he barely noticed since he swiped it from a bed stand on his way back to the boxcar, but now... Now he reached into his jacket to touch it. It’s cold against his touch, but he gripped it hard enough to hurt as his mind whirled with his thoughts.

 

Archer spent a lot of time studying these voices. He recorded the questions the other kids told him they answered and kept a tally of their names and their words. There were seven, so far. All of them seemed to be some flavor of frightening or manipulative and he avoided ever trying to think out a question to one of them. He wasn’t interested in hearing what a bunch of  _ lying _ and  _ cheating  _ ‘gods’ had to say after all. Or, well, usually.  _ Most _ of them weren’t exactly the question answering type. 

 

Shoving open the boxcar door to the sleeping bags, Archer stopped to stare at the altar mirror across the cab. No one could remember when that was put up there. Even the oldest members of the club said it's always been there and no one has yet tried to move it. He's been tempted to, but in the end, well, he never did. 

 

But that... was where the kids went if they wanted to ask questions of the voices. It was dangerous, you're pretty sure, but they hadn't found the hideout yet so maybe it wasn't as bad as feared. It was just... a mirror, right? This couldn't have any sort of significance, it was just - Apophenia. Yeah, that's the term. 

 

"Apophenia," Archer whispered as he approached the mirror, the lighter in his pocket getting heavier with every step he took. "The phenomena where people mistakenly perceive connections and meanings between unrelated things. That's... that's what's happening." Hell, maybe he didn't need a lighter here to make this prayer! Maybe all of these 'voices' that the other kids heard was just a mass hallucination where they all wanted to hear the answers they wanted to hear, all packaged up in the common enemy of Speaks-As-One.

 

Yeah, that had to be it, he thought as he stopped in front of the mirror. What other explanation could there be? That’s what he told himself, but there was still the slightest sliver of doubt planted deep in his mind, whispering that CHORUS didn’t just make itself out of nowhere. If he really believed that it was a hallucination, then what was he doing now in front of the mirror? Was it wistful thinking or desperation that had him staring at himself through the altar mirror.    
  
Archer hadn’t looked at himself in awhile now. He was thin - thinner than when he left home - and twiggy, all hidden under baggy sweaters and pants. His hair was getting a bit too long than his own mom would have liked, with the strands curling up lazily near his chin and hooking around his big, thick glasses. They weren’t big enough to hide the tiredness on his face though, or the bags under his eyes, or the hesitation and fear that drew his face long.   
  


Archer pulled the lighter out of his pocket and he turned it over in his hand. It was plain polished metal and nearly gone if the slosh of liquid inside was any indicator. He'd have just enough fuel for a prayer or two if he was lucky. He just had to.. he just had to get the spine to do it now.

 

Inhaling, he flipped the lid open. The lighter was the same as any other lighter he's seen and he pressed his thumb up against the wheel to click it on. The flame was small and it flickered in the gust of his breath as he stared at it and Archer briefly wondered if there was a correlation between the flames of these prayers and the fact that the symbol Sophie described for Thee-I-Dare was flame shaped. Maybe? Maybe there was a correlation with the rebellious attitude the voice had and how quickly it was snuffed out? Or how he could  _ ignite  _ rebellion? Or, no - didn't he just berate himself for falling down the apophenia trap? It's not important, so he doesn't try to mull on it for long. If it turns out this is one big farce, there’s no need to get himself swept up in his theories again.

 

...But he wonders how he's supposed to keep this lit while he prays. It's such an incredibly simple problem that it snapped Archer out of his melancholy as he took his thumb off the switch and the flame flickered out. What the hell? The other kids said you needed an active flame to pray properly but he couldn't even get the lighter to stay on! Archer placed the lighter down onto the altar for a second and he turned as he tried to scan his sleeping back for something -  _ anything  _ \- he could use to wedge the switch down. Maybe, if he just took a paperclip from his binder and snipped it to a point -

 

_ Click. _

 

If Archer wasn't scared before, he certainly was now. The sound was so soft, so  _ delicate  _ from behind him and when he turned to face the altar -

 

The lighter was on. The flame flickered in the mirror and he stared at it. There was nothing pressing the lighter button down now and yet it sat there, burning away and jumping and dancing like he was the one who ignited it, who just casually left it there to burn and burn and burn.

 

Suddenly, the boxcar didn't feel as empty as it did before. His heart beat deep and fast in his throat and the blood rushing in his ears was loud enough to drown out the crickets outside. Right now, it was just him and that lighter and  _ whatever _ it was that kept it lit. Archer's skin prickled as he realized that he was alone against the big wide world out there. There's no Sophie to save his ass if something happened now - he'd have to save himself and hope for the best. If someone happened on the boxcar now...

 

Well. Archer would be dead. Probably. Or shaped permanently or dragged off like Bells was.

 

But he was brave! He had to be. His hands shook but he wiped them against his jeans to smear off the sweat and he inhaled, nice and deep as he considered his next move. Archer swallowed to try to ease the dryness in his mouth and he slowly knelt in front of the altar, eyes fixed on the flame before him. This was some true supernatural shit he never expected to actually  _ work _ \- but at the very least, he came prepared? Thank god for his overplanning.

 

Archer knew the names of all the voices that have cropped up so far. Laughs-Last, In-Her-Teeth, Dance-For-Us, Thee-I-Dare, Speaks-As-One, Die-For-You and The-Measure-Cuts. He spent a while thinking about the seven voices and which he would talk to because only a few of them would be any help to him. Laughs-Last and Dance-For-Us were too much crazy for them to be any help. They seemed more keen to mock and demand entertainment than answer any questions so they were off the list. Speaks-As-One was  _ definitely  _ off the list. He wasn't  _ that  _ brave to try to get his attention. Die-For-You almost seemed like a good voice to try, but after scrutinizing dream after dream that was told to him, Archer felt like they'd be more eager to further their own agenda of cultish fanaticism than help him.

 

Which left... The-Measure-Cuts.

 

Archer didn't have much on him yet, except that he was precise, skeptical, and had an appreciation for mathematics. He seemed new, but eager to talk if you could bring something worthy of his attention to the table - but if you didn't show you could bring him something to scrutinize, he'd toss you aside like a spent pen. There was something with him with butterflies and slicing and cutting though and that’s a concern, but he had a theory that he did that only when he knew he squeezed every bit of information out of someone he could. If someone was careful, maybe Archer could lead him on and squeeze something out of  _ him. _

 

The-Measure-Cuts was the only one that Archer felt like would answer a question - or at least give them hints. Men of knowledge were always eager to share and debate, weren't they?

 

Archer inhaled, slow and shaky, as he dipped his head to his chest. The flame flickered in front of his face as he sat there and tried to go over the words he prepared just the other night. There was just... there was so much fear clogging up his insides and for a moment, he was tempted to simply stand up and slap the light off the table and forget about it all.

 

But then he thought of his family. He thought of his parents wandering under the lull of a song that wanted to kill him and his friends. He thought of Sophie and how they wanted to run rather than save their families. He thought of the only home he's ever known and how he's abandoned it now just to hide like a coward. He's always been a coward when it came to fighting. Archer was a thinker - a planner! - and he had to do  _ something  _ with this big brain of his, right?

 

So Archer exhaled and calmed his mind. Something almost seemed to charge in the air while he collected himself, almost like something was turning its head to listen - like there’s something that’s noticing him for the first time. 

 

And then…. he spoke.

 

_ "Hi um, This is Archer. I'm 14 years old and like, my friend Sophie said that they've been talking to some of you quote unquote 'gods' or whatever you're called, so I guess I'm trying this out because I want answers." _

**Author's Note:**

> Now let's see if The-Measure-Cuts answers the prayer i snipped to use for this fic.


End file.
